


Bad Day

by HardiganCaptain



Category: Bronson [2008]
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/pseuds/HardiganCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First attempt at Bronson fic. Turned out alright</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Day

The wind bats at the tears on your cheeks, your hand lifting to wipe them away. You shouldn’t be crying at all, it was all so stupid and- Snarling at yourself you take a moment, stopping to take in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. They were idiots, their opinion doesn’t matter, they are dead wrong. Still the cruel words echoed through your mind as you continued walking home, a despised sniffle escaping you as you turn the key in the doorknob and stepping inside. 

Peering into the living room you find it empty and let out a sigh of relief, probably upstairs asleep. Knowing him the way you do it’d be safer if he didn’t see that you’d been crying. Rubbing your aching eyes with the tips of your fingers you head towards the bathroom from memory only to bump into something solid. Shit. 

“I hate my job, it’s not really exciting is it? There’s no flare, no spark. Wonder if it’s too late to bow out and try to find something else…” 

Your eyes fly open, staring at him confused for a moment, your mouth hanging open slightly before you grin. Shaking your head, you move to go around him, he’s still prattling on and you can’t help but find it adorable. It’s just what he does, picking up a conversation that he’d been having silently inside his head as though you’d been a part of it all along. 

“Honestly, love, I make enough fighting. That’s where it’s at! Gonna make a name for meself in the underground, people are gonna know my name, just you wait and see.” 

Fame, he’s so fame hungry, chasing it relentlessly the best way he knows how since robbing the post office had failed so miserably. You’ve learned that it doesn’t matter if you listen carefully to his words or not, he craves an audience so if all you do is occasionally murmur agreeance he’s usually so much happier than if you try to actually engage. Although it would appear you’re wrong this time as he’s staring at you expectantly from the doorway of the bathroom. 

“Don’t you think, eh? Gonna be a big thing?” 

“Absolutely, the biggest.” 

Your response lacks it’s usual luster, the spark of humor snuffed out. He’s started rambling again, grandiose gestures of his arms when it seems his brain finally catches up with the present. 

“What is it, what’s wrong, my pet?” 

“Nothing, Charlie. Nothing.” 

“Ooh…” leaning against the door jamb, he crosses his arms over his chest, “Now you know I hate lying, rotten stuff, truth’s more fun now innit?” 

“I’m not lying Charlie it doesn’t matter, it’s nothing now.” 

“So it used to be something, hmm? Quite the racket seeing as you got those tear stains on your cheeks.” 

“Charlie, please, let it alone.” 

“Nah, don’t think I will,” a quick sniff as he leans closer, eyes narrowing slightly before opening again.

“Someone made my bird cry, and that just won’t do. Won’t do at all.” 

You can already tell this is going to end badly, he’s too eager, too ready to hear you whine. It’s not that he’s insensitive, well at least not on purpose, it’s just whining is boring, doing something about it is much more fun. You watch the way his muscles shift on his shoulders, his mustache twitching as he waits impatiently for you to drop your bomb. 

“Some men down at the market said some things I didn’t like, that’s all.” you shrug trying to pass it off as no big deal but you know that you failed when his eyes gleam. 

“Said something, did they? Something low down, mean, and rotten?” Smiling broadly he nods his head as though he knew that this was what was bothering you all along, his eyes shifting to the front door as his fingers slowly tapped on his forearms. “Well I’ll sort them out right quick, I know that type. Can’t have anyone talking to my bird and hurtin her feelins now can I?” 

“I said let it alone.” You know that look in his eyes, he’s practically chomping at the bit to get at them, a dirty brawl in a market is right up his alley. All those people watching… He’d be in heaven. And jail. Again. “They’re probably not there any more, it doesn’t matter. Just let it alone.” 

“Hey, now! I ain’t no house pet, love. If I wanna go I’m gonna fucking go. Ain’t no woman gonna tie her apron strings round my wrists, you understand?” the delivery is all theatrics and you throw your hands in the air gesturing your surrender. 

“Alright fine, just go, go on,” slipping past him you toss yourself onto the couch, grabbing one of the cushions to cling to while your mind frantically tries to calculate his bail. Would they even bother with bail? 

For a large man he can move surprisingly silent when he wants, you jump when his face peers down at you, his chin resting on the back of the couch. His smile is hesitant, his fingers drumming as he seems to puzzle something out. 

“Is this the part where I make you all giggly before I go?” his voice is a low whisper, his brow furrowing as a frown twists his lips. 

“What?” 

“You’re upset, yeah. So as your-” his hand lifts rolling on his wrist searching for the word or phrase he’s missing. 

“Boyfriend?” 

“Yes! So, you’re upset, yeah, and as your boyfriend it’s my job to make you all giggly again before stepping out to take care of business, yeah?” 

“Wh-” you sometimes forget he doesn’t quite have the knack of this whole dating thing, doesn’t seem to have the knack for interacting with anyone at all really, unless it’s physical. God knows he can communicate perfectly when it came to a brawl. “I don’t giggle, Charlie…” 

“Nonsense!” he tucks his arms under his chin and scowls down at you, “I had you gigglin last night when my mouth was on your-” 

“Okay, that does not count!” 

“It was gigglin!” 

“That was-” you stop, burying your face in the cushion with a groan. “Just go pound something to a pulp and come home, okay?” 

“Not til I have you all smiles again.” Of all the times for him to be stubborn of all the things… 

“Charlie…” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, won’t have it.” Thick fingers bury into your hair and tug until you lift head to look at him. 

Forcing your lips to curve into a smile, you tilt your head to try and pull your hair loose. That sing song way he had of talking was gone instead replaced by the low rumble he only showed when he was trying to be taken seriously. 

“Really Charlie, I’m fine.” Twisting, your hand clutching at his wrist, you kiss the veins on his wrist. 

“Oi! None of that, I can’t keep my thoughts straight when you get all cute and kisses.” he’s scowling now, his lower lip almost in a pout. “I’m trying to be serious and all you can think about is kisses…”

Letting out a soft snort of amusement, you press a kiss to his wrist again, watching the scowl deepen. Some times he was too easy, all it took was a bit of affection and he seemed to lose his train of thought. Not that you exploited this little detail… Well not often.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. What did you want to talk about?”

“I was talkin bout-” you fight back laughter when the talking is drawn out, his fingers idly playing with your hair. “Bloody hell, what were we talking about?”

“I think it was giggling?”

“Why would we be talking about gigglin? Silly sort of subject, ain’t it?”


End file.
